


Softly, or Not at All

by Finitismal



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Other, this is short and sweet really tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-06 21:34:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16840855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finitismal/pseuds/Finitismal
Summary: Concern, Nines’ systems supply. He hadn’t been coded to identify emotions the way Connor was, but he was learning them, slowly.( a.k.a. Nines is newly deviant and having a Hard Time™️. )





	Softly, or Not at All

_Unfamiliar._ Surroundings are continually scanned, storm - shaded optic restless. This was not what he knew. He only knew of sterile white walls and questioning faces, prodding fingers and new circuitry. But this, what surrounded him now? This felt like _home._ He isn’t quite sure why it registers that way for him, and chalks it up to RK800-- no, not RK800, he corrects himself, _Connor_ \-- influencing him. Each interfacing they had shared, palms flat and digits twined like links on a chain, had lead to this, right? Why these four walls didn’t feel like a prison but more like a home.

“You okay, Nines?”

The inquiry is unbidden, optics snapped from their movements to the point of emittance: Connor. He lingers within the doorway, brows risen and head tilted. _Concern,_ Nines’ systems supply. He hadn’t been coded to identify emotions the way Connor was, but he was learning them, slowly.

“I’m fine, Eights.”

A lie. It’s a lie that’s thick and heavy on his tongue and he knows it, knows that Connor knows it. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if the _human_ \-- Hank, it’s _Hank,_ these are his _people_ now-- knew it. An attempt to retain the uplift of crown is made, but it quickly falls towards his chest in defeat, lids fluttering shut as his LED flickers. Yellow, red, yellow, red.

“You’re a terrible liar even without your lie detector,” Connor quips as he approaches, gently tapping his own temple. “You can’t keep all your thoughts in. It’s. . . dangerous.” A frown curls his lips as he studies his successor. “With deviancy--”

“Don’t.” The word is cold, harsh. It cuts like a blade, like winter’s steel, as Nines’ lids snap open anew. His led is a burning, brilliant red now. _Don’t say deviant, I’m not deviant, I was never meant to be. . ._

“Don’t what, Nines?” The snap back is quick, Connor’s own tone becoming strider. Still concerned, but firmer. “Don’t tell you the truth? You’re _deviant._ There’s no changing it, and denying it won’t help. You can’t keep bottling things up like this!”

A flinch. Nines’ LED cycles again. Away from the steady blue to red again. Red as blood, red as what spilt upon the floor in Cyberlife tower. Connor takes a moment to remind himself he did what he had to do. That it was what was needed to save his people. To save _himself._

“I was never meant to deviate. I was meant to destroy you. I was meant to. . . I was supposed to be _superior_ to you in every way. The perfect machine,” Nines whispers. His voice is flat, but Connor knows his successor. Knows that tone is laced with an ache that has settled deep within his thirium regulator. ( Connor knows that tone, because it was once in his, too. )

Connor’s hand raises and rests light upon Nines’ shoulder, rubbing the artificial musculature there. “I know. I know.” What was harsh has shifted anew, become something soft and saccharine, something seeking to soothe such a familiar ache that was no longer his own. “I know.” He settles on the bed beside Nines, now, pulling him close. Allows Nines’ face to press in to his shoulder as Nines trembles.

“Things used to be simple, Eights. Be a machine. Follow orders. There was nothing to it.” Nines’ words are muffled against Connor’s neck, breath warm as he exhales. “I knew what it would end in. I knew what my ultimate role would be once my purpose was served. Yet now everything is. . . it’s never guaranteed. I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow, much less in the next minute. I don’t understand why I care why this place feels like _home._ I don’t know-- I don’t know if i want this. If I’ll be able to stand this.”

_Oh._ Oh, he hadn’t expected that. A weak smile is all Connor can offer, pulling back so that he can meet Nines’ gaze. “You will, Nines. You’re stronger than you think, and you’re not alone, alright? We’ll get through this together.” His smile widens, “I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic in approximately three hundred (300) years so pls be gentle w me
> 
> find me on twitter @finitismal <3


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